Pesky PestsNow we had to tackle the renovation of the house. It’s not lack of inspiration that made us hesitate but, as with all modern day life, the list of things to do ran ahead of the amount of time and money available to do it. Although constructed in the traditional Sussex style, the house was built in the seventies; all too painfully obvious when you ventured inside and saw the avocado bathroom suite and original Tricity cooker (which had a hissy fit by blowing all the electrics when asked to grill).

Out with the old...

...in with the new.

On the positive side, the lounge appeared as though it has more windows than the glasshouses at Kew; light flooded in so gloriously, that even on the dullest day any blues were chased away before they could materialise. All the rooms were of generous proportions, making the house feel spacious and with most of the bedrooms overlooking the garden, each of the three children chose their room without the infighting that had occurred when inspecting other properties.

Being a townie all my life, I’m in awe of the far reaching views from my bedroom window of the South Downs, the rabbits risking their lives to ‘silflay’ in the field behind our garden and the hedgehog taking its time, tantalisingly sauntering across the wet grass. Where to start is always difficult. Is it better to extend the kitchen with an oak framed conservatory to give us the family dinning area we desire or concentrate on getting the bathrooms up and running? With two teenage girls, that question probably answers itself. Meanwhile, surely we must secure the garden to stop the dog escaping as he luxuriates in the new found pleasure of rabbit chasing? At least the wood burner sputtered into life, even if it turned us all into passive smokers until I discovered the vent to the chimney. With increasingly wild winters and the wind whipping off the South Downs straight at us, perhaps focusing on battening down the hatches, checking the guttering and drainpipes might be the right approach?

Temperamental cooker alert.

But before we could make too many plans we were invaded – not by builders, rubble and dust which I was hoping for, but mice and flies. Now, I know that the country and animals go together like bread and butter, I just didn’t expect to have to accommodate them at my house. When yet another mouse came to stay for B & B, I wasn’t fazed, at least it wasn’t like one of my friends, who had a residential rat playing tag in her guttering. And we perfected our entrapment technique down to a fine art. Give us three hours to spare; two willing adults armed with plastic mixing bowls shaped like Madonna’s Gautier bra; three children waving fishing nets; two uninterested cats and one useless dog and we can emerge red-faced, after catching our Bramley Hedge friends, at the same time as rearranging the furniture. But this mouse was different. Not content to feast on cereal and biscuits from the shelves, he decided to take up residence, and have his own personal en-suite, in the door of the dishwasher. Whenever we were loading the machine, he would suddenly drop down as the door swung closed, hear us shriek and escape back to his hidey hole out of reach behind the kitchen cupboards. No amount of prodding, poking or abuse could encourage him to leave the five star accommodation he had at his disposal. If that wasn’t frustrating enough, one sunny day I ventured out into the garden to be bombarded by an army of flies: on the grass, patio furniture, nearby hedge, in fact any surface they could find, including us. Like in Hitchcock’s The Birds, for a week our lives were transformed as we watched the flies conquer the outside of our house. So I telephoned the Environmental Department for advice. Sadly, that was not what I got. Instead I was disappointed with the dismissive tone administered by a man who obviously didn’t think my enquiry worth his time. After being used as a public bench by all the flies, and their relatives yet again as I tried to take advantage of the weather, I decided I needed help and I needed it fast. So I contacted a local pest agency. Without further ado, traps were set up to catch the lodger in the dishwasher and some flies were caught and identified as Autumn or Face Fly, which apparently, just like us, like our south-facing garden in which to sunbathe. We had to wait until they left of their own volition and hope that the females would be attracted next time to someone else’s dung pile far, far away to lay their eggs! Our furry friend was easier to deal with – fed up with the wash cycle entertainment one evening, and feeling a little unsteady on his feet from dodging the traps, he decided to venture into the lounge to watch TV. The mixing bowls were ready! Teresa x Ps No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog ( well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, M’lud).